


Echoes Across Sand

by Kiara_Pyrenei



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon Divergent, Carlos is mostly out of his depth but he's a good boyfriend, Cecil is Inhuman, Diegos mostly jsut kind of a dick, Gen, Kevin is also inhuman, Metaphysical warfare, Theories abotu Desert Bluffs, also some actual warfare, and Tamika's militia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiara_Pyrenei/pseuds/Kiara_Pyrenei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faced with the Strex Corp invasion, the Voice of Night Vale tracks the source of the problem back to his Desert Bluffs counterpart. With help from his intrepid boyfriend and a militia of small children, as well as the remaining NVCR interns, he has to find a way to fix the problem for good before Strex can do any more damage.</p><p>Or, Cecil and Kevin are fundamentally linked to their respective towns, Cecil fights Strex and tries to fix Kevin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Corporate Malfeasance

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first solo attempt at a fic, and man have I picked a doozy of a project to start with. This sucker is going to be long and involved. Luckily, I have everything mostly planned out. Lets just see if I can get it in writing!
> 
> This first chapter is a lot of set up, so many of the characters don't show up yet. But do not fear, they will be there. There will also be more action later. Carlos gets in a fist fight! Tamika totally kills a dude! This will all happen. Just not this chapter.

 

 

 

> _And now a word from our sponsors._
> 
> _Stop what you are doing. Breathe. Direct your thoughts. Direct your thoughts towards... the Sun. Think about it. Are you grateful for the Sun? How has the sun improved your life today? In fact, would you have a life at all if not for the radiating light from that distant glowing orb? Of course not. Now ask yourself, what can you do to give back?_
> 
> _The Sun provides our tiny, meaningless forms with everything we need to continue our tiny, meaningless lives. And what do you do for the sun in return for everything you have ever known? That's right, nothing. In the grand cosmic scale on which the Sun exists, you contribute nothing. Do you feel small now, worthless? Well you should._
> 
> _So take some time today to try and fight your inherent lack of cosmic worth through hard work! The futile effort will surely make you feel a false sense of accomplishment that is better than any material reward. Remember, productivity is your gateway to a happier, more effective delusion!_
> 
> _This message brought to you by Strex Corp Synergists, Inc._

 

 

Carlos glanced at his radio uneasily, distracted from his work. That was the third Strex-sponsored ad in this broadcast alone. Carlos set down the dropper he'd been using to prepare sample slides and stared at the radio on his lab table for a moment, tempted to just turn it off for today before there was a fourth. This was an unusual urge for him. He usually loved listening to Cecil's show, to his boyfriends smooth voice as he relayed the news about whatever strange disaster was occurring that day. It usually made him feel better, calmer, more grounded. He had never told Cecil, but he thought that the grounding force of that voice on the airwaves had probably saved him from going crazy more than once in this strange town that he now called home, and he listened to every single broadcast without fail. Recorded them, too. You know, just for future reference, as they were a valuable source of information, and definitely not for any other reason. He'd certainly never voluntarily skipped one before, not since his first months in Night Vale. But somehow, the way that Cecil did those ads, in that too-chipper tone that Cecil had said was explicitly demanded by his new bosses, was highly unsettling. It made Carlos' blood run cold.

It might not have been so ominous by itself. Night Vale advertising was always creepy by outside standards, and Cecil was often asked to do weird stuff for various sponsored segments. It shouldn't have been any different. It was only ominous because of who was behind it. Strex Corp Synergists, Inc. had come to Night Vale a couple months ago, and it seemed to Carlos to be nothing short of an invasion. It just seemed… off. Their arrival coincided with the complete disappearance of all the angels in Night Vale, who most had assumed to be Night Vale's constant protectors, for all that they did not exist. Strex had then immediately bought out the Night Vale Community Radio Station, which Cecil hadn't even realized _could_ be bought. It had always been ruled by unknown forces, for as long as anyone could remember, and no one seemed to know how Strex had gained control, but there didn't seem to be any way to contest the takeover. Cecil's broadcasts were getting more and more censored. Almost every ad was for Strex now.  Gradually, more companies and Night Vale landmarks joined the radio station under Strex control. It was creeping and slow, but inexorable, a kind of secret and silent coup de tat.

Worse, Carlos was terribly afraid that he knew how this invasion ended.

He remembered the sandstorm, and everything he had managed to uncover about desert bluffs that day. The hellscape that Cecil had described on the other end of that vortex. The strangely mirrored lives that the people seemed to lead. And the company that seemed to be behind all of it, the one that was now spreading into Night Vale. At the time, it had all seemed far too dangerous to even investigate further. It was too far out of his depth. He was just a physicist. Sure, he'd had to dabble in various other disciplines, like chemistry and xenobiology, in order to deal with the various emergencies and intriguing developments that came up in Night Vale, but that didn't make him any more qualified to combat some sort of deep seated supernatural corporate conspiracy. And since it wasn't taking place in Night Vale at the time, Carlos chose to let it go, and try very hard not to think about it again. And that had worked, right up until the day that yellow helicopters with the Strex logo had flown into Night Vale and changed everything.

The idea of Night Vale going the same way as Desert Bluffs filled Carlos with an unimaginable feeling of dread, and yet, he didn't know what he could possibly do. He was a physicist, a scientist. He worked with equations, and sometimes dabbled in chemicals. How was he supposed to fight a corporate takeover of an entire town? Cecil didn't seem to know either, and he usually seemed to know almost everything.

Carlos rubbed his eyes, trying and failing to focus on his work. He was doing some biology research today, his personal projects set aside as he took the time to examine samples he'd pulled from some sort of poisonous sentient plant that had been terrorizing old town Night Vale for the past two days, trying to see if he could develop an antidote. But his heart wasn't in it. He was too distracted. He continued to stare vacantly through his microscope at a slide full of cells that seemed to defy all previous biological knowledge, because of course they did. He didn't know why he would expect this to be simple, or logical at all. Nothing in Night Vale was. He sighed. His sample slide was just beginning to develop a sentience of its own and attempt to escape when the radio caught his attention again.

Cecil had just finished announcing where people should gather for the monthly burning of the public library tonight when things first went downhill.

 

 

> _Listeners, I've just been handed a flyer by our new employers here at the station, encouraging citizens to apply for one of the many open positions at Strex Corp Synergists, Inc. The flyer insists that Strex Corp is always hiring, and that all applicants are welcome! It also insists that you submit a thorough medical background and a blood sample for classification in addition to your resume. In fact, they don't care about your resume at all! Just make sure to get them that blood sample, and you'll probably be hired. The flyer goes on to explain that Strex Corp is a wonderful employer offering competitive pay and benefits as well as plenty of opportunities for advancement. The sticky note attached to the **back** of the flyer explains that this recruitment drive is in no way an attempt to gather test subjects for any variety of unethical medical experiments and psychological studies, and requests that I emphasize that working for Strex is completely saf- oh. Hold on for just one moment, listeners, one of my new managers has just entered the booth._
> 
> _No, of course. Ah, I'm very sorry, I was simply reading what was put in front of me, that is my job-_
> 
>  
> 
> _Well yes. I mean I was going to say- what? No, I can fix it, just let me issue a correction-_
> 
> _What do you mean, leave? We're on air, I'm in the middle of a broadcast I - ow! Alright, alright, just let me go to the weather and I'll -_
> 
> _What? You can't do that. This station is - oof._

 

There was a sound like a brief struggle and the thump that might have been the microphone falling over before Cecil's voice came back through the radio, strained and filled with something that might have been panic. He sounded like he was shouting from far away. Carlos' nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists, holding his breath as fear made him freeze up.

 

 

> _Listeners, I am being told by the suited men in my booth that I am done with my broadcast for today, and am being pulled out of the booth without even the ability to take you to the weather to fill this gap in our programing. I do not know when I will be able to return, but I hope -_

 

There was the sound of static, and then the radio fell silent, cutting off Cecil's panicked attempt to bring his show to a conclusion. The silence rang in Carlos' ears like a bad case of tinnitus. He had never heard Cecil _not finish_ a show. Not matter how bad the situation, he always managed to keep some semblance of a broadcast going, through to the final sign off. _Always_.

Carlos was standing up and heading for the door before he made the conscious decision to do so. He dumped the sample he'd been working on into a containment unit on his way out, grabbing his keys as he went. He probably broke a few speed limits on his way over to the radio station, but the secret police didn't seem to care. In fact, the few people he saw on the way seemed as concerned as he was, so unused to the silence on the air.

He squealed into the radio station parking lot and hopped out to see Cecil sitting on the front steps, head in his hands. Carlos let out a sigh of relief. He was safe, at least, alive. He had been worried that Strex might have done something to him, or that Station Management would punish him for the way the show had gone, but it seemed he'd just been kicked out of the building for now. Last time Cecil had made a mistake on-air Carlos hadn't seen him for almost two days, after he'd been called in for "HR re-training", which seemed to be a euphemism for brutal torture in a dark box of some sort that Cecil wouldn't discuss with him. Carlos was glad that wasn't where Cecil was now. That was good.

Cecil _did_ still look more upset than Carlos had ever seen him, though, so he walked quietly to sit by his side, taking off his lab coat and draping it over Cecil's shoulders in a small gesture of comfort. They sat like that for a long time, watching the darkening sky as the sun went below the horizon, not speaking. Carlos didn't know what to say, what to do, so he just wrapped his arm around Cecil and waited. After a while, Cecil stopped looking so unbearably sad and simply looked tired, worried, worn out. He pulled his head up from his arms and looked at Carlos.

" _They took me off the air_ , Carlos." Cecil said quietly, sounding both confused and hurt, like this situation was so completely unimaginable that he didn't know what to do besides just sit there on the curb outside the station.

 Carlos didn't say anything for a moment, unsure how to respond.

"…What happened in there today?" He finally asked, starting with a question. He always started with a question, with an attempt to diagnose the problem, a need to know the situation so that he could form a hypothesis, start building a course of action. He knew what had actually occurred, of course, the whole town had heard it live and Cecil had just told him, but he needed to _understand_. It was the only way he knew how to function, even though questions just brought trouble more often than not in Night Vale. He still needed to know.

There was another long silence as Cecil looked up at the sky, eyes dark, unreadable.

"There's something wrong with Night Vale."

Carlos blinked, and bit back the questions that popped into his mind at that statement. What did Cecil mean, wrong? Wrong was too vague, and Night Vale was too big a concept. What part of the city was he talking about? The government, the people, the economy? Or was he referring to the city as a whole? If so, how would one even _define_ a city as a single entity? How would you define wrong? Carlos let the questions flow through his mind but didn't say anything. Cecil wasn't through talking.

"This broadcast today was just the worst in a long line of problems! Strex has been messing with the show ever since they came here, censoring things, cutting out whole segments, limiting my reporting abilities. Station Management is _furious_. I've never seen them so agitated, and that's saying something, since they are usually in a constant state of at least minor agitation. By all rights the Strex thugs should be dead, but somehow they are not. They're still just _there_ , messing with my show! I haven't even been able to send interns out into the field during the show for information! I mean, intern Casey has been really helpful, they've been doing some field work on their own personal time and intern Roderick has been slipping me notes in the blind spots of the new security cameras, but there's only so much they can do. And the rest of the staff has mostly been replaced by Strex workers already."

"It's just..." Cecil sighed, running a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture, struggling for words in a way that was unusual for the usually effusive radio host, "I'm not sure how to explain it. This thing with Strex Corp... it's changing things. Things that weren't meant to be changed. Things that shouldn't be _able_ to be changed. Like the entire town is shifting, mutating, being... corrupted. It's _all wrong_."

Cecil was quiet for a moment, head down. When he looked up to meet Carlos' eyes he had a serious expression on his face, his eyes filled with a look Carlos had only seen in them once or twice, something deep and unknowable and dark. The look was almost appraising, as if Cecil was trying to make some decision about him. Carlos felt a shiver run down his spine and he was reminded, as he sometimes was, of how little he really understood about the man he'd fallen in love with. Cecil blinked, and the moment passed. He looked around and leaned in to speak quietly.

"Let's find some place more private." He whispered, with a meaningful glance at the cameras above the radio station doors, and then to the bushes rustling unnaturally by the side of the building. Which meant that whatever he wanted to say, he didn't want to do it in front of Strex _or_ the secret police. Carlos just nodded, curious. He didn't really understand what was going on, and he didn't know where in Night Vale they could possibly go without being watched by some nefarious force or another, but he'd learned to trust Cecil's judgment in cases like these. The radio host was surprisingly good at navigating deadly Night Vale politics.

Cecil pulled himself up from the curb, dragging Carlos up by the hand and tugging him towards his car. He was smiling, perfectly cheery as usual as they drove, Carlos in the passenger seat. Cecil talked about random happenings in Night Vale that day, which interns were still around and which ones made the best coffee, just normal small talk, but Carlos could hear that he was forcing it, and he still didn't know where they were going. Out into the sand wastes? Out of Night Vale entirely? Or maybe just somewhere secluded, like out by the abandoned missile silo. There were a few options, he supposed, though most of them were probably still within range of the secret police, like everywhere else in Night Vale.

When they stopped, however, it wasn't in any of those places. In fact it wasn't anywhere that Carlos might have _possibly_ considered.

Carlos blinked, confused, as he found himself stepping out into the brightly lit parking lot of Big Rico's Pizza.

Cecil jumped out of the car himself and put an arm through Carlos' cheerily, leading him inside.  "Uh, Cecil…." Carlos mumbled as he was dragged along, still more than a little confused. _How in the hell is this more private?_  

Cecil shushed him before he could ask, still smiling. "Come on, Carlos, let's just relax! Get some food, think about something else. Drink to forget, that kind of thing." But he gripped Carlos' arm a little harder though his lab coat, and Carlos knew they weren't actually here to eat. He didn't say anything else. As they walked in he could see several people (or otherwise sentient creatures) already in line, with more sitting at various tables eating cheese wads and sipping bowls of stewed tomatoes. A couple were even braving Rico's nearly-unpalatable gluten-free pizza. At least one Erika was leaning against the jukebox; it was hard to tell if it was just the one, as the light was rather blinding. Rico himself stood behind the counter, glaring at everyone one by one. Most of the customers had turned to look at them when they walked in, fear and unease in their eyes. They had heard the radio today too.

All in all, Carlos thought there might not be a place in Night Vale _less_ suited to private and possibly illegal conversation. He shot Cecil a questioning look, one eyebrow raised. It wasn't that he didn't trust him, of course, but… this was a pretty weird choice.

Cecil ignored the look completely and led the way past Erika and around a corner to a little-used part of the shop that used to be an arcade of some sort. From what Cecil cheerily explained to him, it had used to be a big hit with the kids, but then they had started disappearing one by one into the digital world of one of the games, so now everything was mostly just collecting dust. He stepped past an old racing game of some sort labelled "Fatal Crashing 2" as he talked and stepped up to what look like the door to a supply closet. Carlos hung back and watched as Cecil knocked twice, loudly.

A small panel in the door slid back, and Carlos could see the eyes of one of the Rico's waitresses glaring out from behind the door. Cecil smiled brightly.

"Hello Janice! Care to let us in?" he said, as if this was something that was normal to ask someone apparently hiding in a supply closet. Janice simply glared at them for another long moment.

"You aren't gonna _report_ on anything, are you?"  She asked, suspicious. The way she said report made it sound like it was the most deplorable thing she could think of for a person to do.

Cecil shook his head, palms out in a gesture of good faith. "No, no, of course not. We're just here as customers, that's all. No reporting. And no researching, either," he said, pointing back at Carlos. 

Janice seemed to consider this, and then nodded. The panel slid shut, and a moment later the door swung open. Cecil gave a grateful wave to Janice as he and Carlos walked past her, down a short hallway, and then down a long flight of stairs.  When they reached the bottom, they were met with what looked to be a whole separate restaurant, with dark, wood paneled booths and a dimly lit bar. On the whole, it was much nicer than the upstairs, and much less populated.

Carlos was struck a bit speechless, gaping as Cecil led them to a secluded booth in a corner. He sat down heavily and Cecil slid in across from him, gesturing to the nearest waitress, a woman who Carlos couldn't seem to quite look at except for out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be real enough though, since she handed them two menus. Cecil picked his up and started to look through it, and when Carlos followed suit, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

There was a whole section of muffins, various types of bread, whole wheat sandwiches, pasta, _actual pizza_ …. 

Carlos set his menu down and looked at Cecil incredulously.

"Did you… did you just bring me to a _wheat speakeasy_?" he asked, his tone bordering on disbelief. He had heard that this place existed, on Cecil's show, but he thought it had been closed after the secret police raid. And the fact that it was Cecil bringing him here was equally confusing. Cecil was so… so _law abiding_. He was the model of civic pride, for the most part, excepting some minor information leaks on air. He'd never seen Cecil break the law _on purpose_. Then again, if they'd been looking for a place to talk secretly, he couldn't have chosen better. The secret police must not even know about this, or they'd have shut it down already. And if the secret police didn't know, Strex certainly wouldn't. It was actually pretty clever, Carlos thought, but seeing Cecil sitting there casually perusing illegal muffins was still fairly disconcerting. 

"Wasn't this place shut down?"

Cecil set down his menu. "Yeah, but Rico has connections with the city council. I can't say for sure if it was a bribe or blackmail of some sort, but they dropped the case entirely, and it opened back up soon after, right back to serving illicit wheat products. With better ventilation this time. The secret police mostly just smell around for bread, so they haven't found out it's been reopened yet." he said matter of factly, casually, as if he hadn't just been talking about someone _blackmailing_ the city council. He still wasn't mentioning why they were there. He smiled at Carlos.  "Aren't you going to order?"

The items on the menu did look rather tempting, Carlos had to admit. It had been months since the council's ban on wheat, and he felt like it had been forever since he'd tasted actual, real, _bread_.  His mouth was practically watering. He was still a little nervous at doing something so obviously illegal, but if Cecil was doing it… well, he might as well. He gave in and ended up going a little overboard, ordering a bowl of pasta, two orders of garlic bread, and a stack of flour tortillas.  Cecil ordered three muffins of a flavor Carlos had never heard of before, and couldn't pronounce.

As soon as their waitress left, Cecil's smile fell and he looked at Carlos gravely. "Unfortunately," he said, finally starting the discussion they'd come here to have, "I didn't bring you here just to enjoy some highly illegal foods and their by products."

Carlos nodded. "I got that, yeah. Though I'm still not exactly clear why you _did_ bring me here."

Cecil paused for a moment, seeming to be searching for words. After a long moment, he sighed.  "There's things I need to tell you. About Night Vale and… about me."

Carlos felt his heart thud a little, nervous. This didn't sound like it was going anywhere Carlos would like.

"Actually, no one outside the radio station is ever supposed to hear this; secrecy is in my contract." Cecil continued, sighing again, his voice sliding into something that was almost a whine. "But...I need help. I don't think I can figure out what to do by myself. So if it's to help the station... maybe Management will let it pass, this once. Maybe. If not, then I guess I'll have a lot of re-training to look forward to in the future. But they probably won't kill me. Probably." He smiled weakly. "So I think I might tell you."

Carlos didn't return the smile. He hated the idea of getting Cecil into trouble, especially with whatever creature that Cecil answered to at the station. He could recall with great clarity the look that Cecil always had when he came home after a re-training session, like he'd been through more pain than his brain could process and thus just ceased to function. He hated it, and he hated Station Management for inflicting it on him. Not that Carlos ever told Cecil that; it would only upset him. Cecil was nothing if not unfailingly, enthusiastically loyal to his job. To be honest, his words now were surprising to Carlos, as Cecil had always discussed his station contract like it was a sacred vow, the idea of breaking it completely unthinkable. The way he spoke about it, Carlos had long suspected that there was more to Cecil's job arrangement than was obvious; Cecil had only said he couldn't say and asked him not to question it.  And Carlos had respected that no matter _how_ curious he was, because it was obviously important to Cecil, and that was all that mattered.

But now, if he was understanding the situation correctly, Cecil was offering to share all those secrets that Carlos had always wondered about as he sat listening to the daily radio broadcast. How did Cecil manage to report on things he had no way of knowing about, and do it with the kind of detail that he couldn't have gotten any other way besides witnessing it first hand? Carlos had recorded this phenomenon several times and there were glaring inconsistencies, but Cecil was always evasive when he asked and he never got a real answer. Was he going to get one now?

He'd also never figured out what exactly Cecil's relationship with the town was.  Every single person in Night Vale listened to Cecil's show, even though it wasn't mandated. Every person, without fail. His show was a kind of constant in people's lives, something that everyone loved and relied on, and yet Cecil himself socialized very little outside of interviews and press meetings.  He had some kind of political power, and far too much influence for just being a newscaster, that much was clear, but Carlos couldn't tell how far it went.  All he knew was that when Cecil spoke, Night Vale listened.

Not to mention, what exactly was Station Management? What contract had Cecil signed with them and why was it so important? Carlos had managed to discover that the radio station itself seemed to be some sort of temporal anomaly, existing long before there should have been people here at all. It was listed as outside the influence of the secret police and the city council, which was strange in and of itself. How long had it really been there? And why?

What did it mean to be the Voice of Night Vale?

Carlos had asked these questions countless times since he'd arrived here. He had an entire notebook dedicated to his observations about Cecil, his job, and the strange features of both. It was in his faded, ripped-up backpack right this moment,  sitting beside him in the booth. Carlos desperately wanted some sort of answer to all the questions sitting right there, between those pages. He wanted them so badly. But…

He might get Cecil hurt. And for what? Cecil seemed to think that Carlos might be able to give him some kind of guidance, but Carlos was just as floundering and lost as everyone else. He was a physicist, for gods sake. The only things he was good at were asking questions and working with equations. He was about as likely to have the answers to this crisis as he was to suddenly get super powers so he could wipe Desert Bluffs from the face of the earth. Less likely, really. If that was what Cecil was hoping for, what he was risking himself for, then it wasn't worth it. As much as Carlos wanted to know, it wasn't worth it. He took a deep breath.

"Cecil, I'm not… I can't fix this either. I know you seem to think that science is some sort of magic that I can use to save the entire town at all times, but… it's not. I'm not. I'm confused and scared and I don't understand anything that's going on. Even if you tell me, all that will happen is that I will know a little bit more than I did before, and still have no idea what to do about it.  You… you're always so much better at all this than I am, _you're_ the one who tells people how to deal with things, how to survive. I'm not sure I have anything to contribute besides a whole bunch more questions. That's really all I'm good at, asking questions. Just more and more questions. I've haven't found any answers since I came here; even the equations I've formulated for spacial-temporal rifts are more observational than explanatory. They're just distilling down data. I still don't understand the mechanics behind it, which is fine I suppose, I mean that's what Newton did, but it hardly qualifies as an _answer_ , really. "  He was mildly aware that he was rambling, as he often did when he was nervous or upset or in this case, starting to panic. He shut his mouth before he could continue any further into a tangent about the purpose of science and the inherent limitations to practicality in pure research, a line of thought he had pursued in his head far too many times over the past months. He could give quite the speech by now, and that wouldn't get them any closer to an answer, either.

Cecil just smiled, a little more warmly this time. He reached out to rest his hand on Carlos'. "Oh, Carlos. I don't need you to have the answers." He said gently, in a soft tone that made Carlos' heart rate calm, just a little further from panic. "I don't expect you to. No one can have the answers to everything, or really, to anything, as a matter of fact. I just need…" he paused, stopping to choose his words carefully. "I need someone to share this with. To offer support, to work with me. I need you with me for what comes next, whatever that may be. That's all. And it's worth the risk. Will you take the risk with me?"

Carlos took a moment to take in those words, to really consider it, before he nodded. 

"If that's what you want, then I'm here." He said, trying to sound more sure than he felt.

Cecil nodded, and started to explain.

 

 

===============

 

_There is a spirit to any place where people gather. It's not a concrete thing, not like the soul in your body, in a person or a creature, a spirit that can be observed or spoken to or destroyed.  It's a more nebulous concept, a group of ideas and feelings and interactions that come together to create an atmosphere, subtle and pervasive. In a town, it's the routine of its people and the hum of activity in the streets and the way that each person in it lives and breathes as they pass through the structures that give a place its physical definition. It's the way a town changes over time, adapting and growing and decaying and being built, being lived in. It's the way the streets are shaped and the contour of it's skyline. Above all the spirit of a place is in a sense of community,  the intricate web of relationships between every one of its inhabitants, woven together to create one being with a kind of soul of its own. It's not the kind of being that most people recognize, not a sentient god, or even an incorporeal entity; it has no power of it's own, no thoughts, nothing but a vague feeling imparted, unquantifiable._

_Most of the time._

_But there is a place. It's a strange place, newly formed and in it's infancy but already unlike any other place on earth. And there is a group, a group who wishes their new town to prosper and grow.  They have powers that aren't from this world and they are well versed in using them; They have a plan, a plan to save themselves and the rest of the town's people from the terrible forces that haunt their home. They'll take that soul that every place has, that nebulous unreachable concept, and they'll make it into something real. Something solid. Something that can fight for them, protect them against the dangers they fear. They'll make something that can guide, can give words to what the people need, something that can speak for the town as a whole._

_They'll give Night Vale a Voice of its own._

_They choose a sacrifice, a vessel. Someone loyal to the town and dedicated to it's welfare. Then they call down their powers; preform the ritual, say the words. The vessel dies, and yet they live on as their memories and personality survive, merged with the force that had been called down to be given physical form._

_They become the first Voice of Night Vale, but they won't be the last._

_At first, it isn't a radio show. Radio hasn't been invented yet, wont be for long centuries. There is just a voice heard somehow through clear air and no one questions it. No one feels the need to; the voice is familiar, somehow, comforting. And the town is better now, different. People come together and there is a sense of purpose that had been lacking before, carried on those waves of sound. Night Vale is united by its Voice._

_The system isn't perfect, of course. The Voice is still mortal, still a person with their own feelings and desires, and the third Voice of Night Vale proves that she has the capacity for corruption; a thirst for power unfettered by morals. Eventually, the crisis is averted, balance restored, but Night Vale suffers for it._

_After that, the fourth Voice of Night Vale has a boss, a screeching eldritch thing impervious to the Voice's influence and capable of destroying them. They build a prison to hold it, to keep it from turning its wrath on the town and they trap it inside forever. There is a contract signed, a pact in blood to seal the Voice to his duties and to his new master permanently, a set of limits and rules and restraints. He sells his soul to the creature in that building and they own him, will kill him if he rebels, a high price paid in exchange for the power he has been given.  But it's a price paid willingly._

_Eventually things change, slowly, as all towns do. Night Vale expands, and the Voice gains employees of his own; the howling prison of his unknowable bosses becomes the base around which a headquarters of sorts is built, full of people bustling to keep up with the ever changing events of Night Vale. Radio is invented and it's the best possible medium; A tower is erected and their base becomes a radio station, the Voice comes from a speaker instead of the air but is otherwise still the same. Life in Night Vale goes on._

_It goes on for longer than should be possible, because time doesn't work quite the same way there. It goes on right up to the present moment,  to the 54th Voice of Night Vale, who has inherited the legacy of all his predecessors and serves as a reflection of the town, of everything it is, embodied in a person and a voice. In this form, nothing can harm the town, not truly. There can be wanton destruction and death and misery, but in the end, as long as the Voice exists, Night Vale will survive. Night Vale will continue to be Night Vale, permanent and existent. There is nothing that can corrupt it._

_Nothing, that is, until now._

 

==================

 

 

Carlos is silent for a long time after Cecil finishes talking, lost in thoughts and questions and confused by the scale of it all. It's too much to take in at one time. It doesn't help that in addition to being overwhelming on a purely intellectual level, it's about Cecil, who is also someone he is in love with, in a _relationship_ with, which makes it concerning on a deeply personal level as well. He doesn't know what to ask first, and he doesn't know whether some of his questions will be more hurtful than supportive. How do you ask your boyfriend _what are you_ or _are you even human_ without hurting them? He can't figure it out, and he is quiet for far too long; Cecil begins to look concerned and starts to pull away.

"Carlos?" he asks, looking terribly vulnerable. There's a realization that Cecil has probably never told _anyone_ what he just told Carlos. In fact, Cecil himself only recently learned some of this, Carlos knows. He is thinking just clearly enough to realize how unsure Cecil must be feeling, how nervous. He wishes he could figure out what to say to make it better, but he's got nothing. No words at all. Cecil pulls away further.

"Carlos… I understand that this is probably a lot to take in, especially for someone who isn't… isn't from here, isn't used to these kind of…things." Cecil said haltingly, awkwardly, hurt evident in his voice. "S-so, if you don't want to- I mean, if you're not comfortable, being around me…" he trailed off, looking miserable.

The look on his face finally manages to snap Carlos out of it, suddenly desperate to do something, anything, to make that hurt in Cecil's eyes go away. He still doesn't have the right words, so instead he leans across the table to grab Cecil by the tie and pulls him in to meet his lips in a rough and sudden kiss. It isn't very graceful, but there's feeling behind it, and Cecil is surprised for only a moment before he relaxes and kisses back, hesitant but with the same strength of emotion. They stay like that for a long minute, Cecil's hands in his hair. It's a nice minute, a needed respite from the dark oppressive weight of all that they have to deal with. When they pull apart, Cecil still looks nervous, but now there's hope lighting his face. Carlos smiles and Cecil returns it softly after a moment.

"S-so you're not… you're not bothered, by this? You're… I mean, we're… okay?"  Cecil said carefully, still sounding painfully unsure. It makes Carlos' heart constrict in his chest.

"Of course we're okay, Cecil." He said, trying to make his voice sound as forceful and sure as he possibly can, given the circumstances. "I mean, um, of course I'm bothered, in that this is all very confusing and a bit much for me to wrap my head around, right this moment. And _dios mio_ , it brings up so many questions, I don't even know where to start. But that's… that doesn't change the way that I feel about you, I mean, in a romantic way. It's uh, something we will probably have to, discuss, of course. At some point. In more detail. But I'm still here, and I still want to be here so," he realized he was rambling again. "Yes. Is what I'm saying.  Yes, we're okay."

Cecil grinned and hugged him and Carlos felt sure he had done the right thing. "I do have a lot of questions though."

Cecil sat back and looked at him and laughed a little. It was the first time he'd laughed in far too long, nearly since Strex had come into town.  "Carlos, you _always_ have questions," he pointed out with a small grin. "You are just _so full of questions_ , sometimes I wonder how it doesn't kill you."

Carlos laughed in return. "It feels like it might sometimes, to be honest."

And then they talked for a while, taking a moment to recover from the emotional stress of so many secrets revealed. Just the two of them, holding each other's hands as they sat in the dim gloom of Rico's basement. Eventually the conversation stops and neither of them say anything, but it's a comfortable silence. It stretches on and Carlos wishes they could just stay like that, just forget everything else. But they can't. The moment can't last because there's still so much they need to figure out. There's a war going on, and they're losing, and there's not enough time for quiet moments like this one. But Carlos doesn't want to have to be the one to end it.

Luckily, their reverie is broken by their waitress returning with plates full of steaming wheat products, so he doesn't have to. They both snap out of their quiet contemplation suddenly, a little disoriented, as they accept plates of food. Carlos has never smelled anything so amazing in his life. He thinks briefly that his mother would kill him if she could see how quickly he is shoveling food into his mouth, but it's just been way too long and there are _tortillas_. He wonders if he can get away with eating here more often.

Cecil seemed to be enjoying his as well, savoring bites of muffin with a degree of enthusiasm that was… well, actually, it was a bit disturbing. And kind of distracting.

Carlos coughed and tried to restart the conversation, hoping to get them back on topic.

"Cecil, what about Strex Corp? If… if what you said is true, then how are they doing this?"

Cecil swallowed a bite of muffin and shook his head in an angry, frustrated motion. "I don't know! They shouldn't be able to! I should have been able to stop this a long time ago! I don't… I don't understand why I can't."

Carlos took in this information, nodding slowly. "Okay, so you don't know what they're doing. We do know some things, though." He pulled out one of the many notebooks in his bag, the one where he wrote down all the observations he had made during the sandstorm, and later from listening to the broadcasts of that day, both of them. He had gotten ahold of a copy of Desert Bluffs broadcast thanks to Steve Carlsberg, and it had turned out to be a useful resource, if a completely terrifying one. They were lucky, Carlos thought, that they had found somewhere reasonably certain to be free of surveillance to have this conversation, since he had a feeling even the small bits of data he had managed to collect were dangerous, and almost certainly forbidden. He pulled open the notebook and leaned over to show Cecil.

"We know that they're based in Desert Bluffs. That place is a whole mystery in and of itself. The whole town seems to be run by Strex, and I think we can safely say that this isn't a good thing, based on what you saw in the radio station there.  Then there's the whole issue of _who_ you saw in the radio station, your supposed double. Everything there seems to be strangely aligned with what occurs in Night Vale, as far as I could tell from my limited observation. The names and sometimes even genders of the citizens are different, but they play much the same role, and events occur in very similar fashion…" Carlos started to read off everything he had managed to deduce about Strex, and about Desert Bluffs, since the two were obviously correlated. Cecil nodded and listened intently, interjecting with questions or theories every once in a while, which they would discuss. They both agreed that however Strex was managing to invade Night Vale, it probably was connected somehow to the strange entanglement between the two towns themselves, but neither of them had a model for how that might work. They also agreed that Strex was awful and probably evil and definitely very bad for Night Vale. Beyond that, they didn't make too much progress.

Finally, by the time that Cecil's watch said it was nearly morning, they were both too exhausted to continue the futile effort. They had gone through about three plates of food during the course of the night, and they didn't really have any more ideas of what to do than when they started. The Strex employees at the station would be coming in to work in less than two hours. Carlos yawned, and started to pack up his stuff, gathering the notebooks and papers that had gotten scattered across the table during their discussion.  He slid out of the booth and held out a hand to help up Cecil, who had been laying down across his seat for the past couple hours. They paid their check on their way out the door, adding money to the tip until the waitress stopped making her unbearable screeching noise. Then they walked up the stairs in silence, through the lobby of Big Rico's, which of course was always open and full of people, and out into the warm dawn air.

All in all, Carlos wasn't sure it had been a particularly fruitful night. I mean sure, they both knew more than they had yesterday, and Carlos always appreciated the value of knowledge of any kind, but in the end, they still didn't have enough to formulate a plan. And in this case, even a scientist had to accept that knowledge by itself was useless unless they could do something with it. He sighed as they walked to the car, Carlos driving this time.

"Where to?"

"The station." Cecil answered immediately, and Carlos pulled out of the parking lot. Really, he thought he might be too tired to be a safe driver, but considering the state of driving safety in Night Vale as a whole, he doubted anyone would ticket him if he swerved a little. Luckily the station wasn't to far off.

Cecil, meanwhile, was silent, thoughtful, as they pulled up into the parking lot of his work. Carlos glanced at him, concerned. He knew Cecil was probably as tired as he was, but there was something in that look that seemed like it was more than just exhaustion.

"Cecil, are you okay?"

Cecil was silent for a while, staring out the window at the radio station tower, not making any move to get out of the car.  "I think… I have an idea." he said after a moment. "A way to get more information. Possibly the only way. I _need_ more information. This is my job, I have to fight this it's… it's what I was _made for_."

Carlos nodded, confused as to why Cecil sounded so… nervous. Like he was apologizing in advance. Any more information was a good thing, right? He would have _thought_  it was a good thing. And yet the look on Cecil's face made Carlos certain it wasn't going to be a good thing.

"Cecil, what are you planning on doing?" he asked as Cecil hopped out of the car, definitely not wanting to know the answer anymore. Cecil looked at him, determined, mind obviously already made up.

 

"I'm going to go talk with Station Management."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I admit that since this is my first fic attempt, I'm a little nervous and unsure about whether it's any good. So if you want to see it continue, PLEASE let me know! Kudos, bookmarks, and especially comments; basically anything at all. It would mean a lot to me to hear what you think.
> 
> (It would also make a huge difference in my motivation level as I slog through this huge project.)
> 
> I've also got a tumblr over at nightvaleswimclub, if you want to chat with me. I always love talking about Night Vale, and I'd love to hear any suggestions or thoughts people have about the fic. I'm also always looking for more Night Vale blogs to follow! So yeah, hit me up.
> 
>  ~~Next Chapter preview: Carlos goes to Tamika to get some muscle on their team. Cecil gets an awful earful from Station Management, unlocks some new and unearthly powers, and tracks down Kevin. The beginnings of a plan (and a plot) begin to form. Stay tuned!~~ (aaand I'm having to split the next chapter into more than one part so this is no longer accurate. whoops.)


	2. Bargains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the stuff I had intended for this chapter ended up going way too long and having to be split into more than one part. This writing stuff is harder than I expected! But hey, enjoy what I have so far, and we'll get to all that future neat plot stuff eventually.

  
Cecil woke up slowly, dragging himself back into consciousness painfully and with great effort. Everything he could feel hurt. He thought briefly through the pounding in his head that he might prefer to just lay down and die. Surely it would be much less excruciating, wouldn't it? But he didn't seem to be dying at that exact moment, however much he would like to be, so instead he settled for simply trying to breathe and not move anything. His head was throbbing and his whole body felt like it was on fire. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, or where "here" was, or who he was, or anything much at all. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there. He opened his eyes and then promptly shut them again, blinded and dizzied by even the faint light in the hallway where was sprawled on the floor.  
  
 _The radio station._ His brain supplied helpfully. _I'm in the radio station._  
  
 _I'm in the radio station because I work here; I'm the Voice of Night Vale. My name is Cecil Palmer._   Information came back to him in pieces, awareness trickling into his mind slowly, haltingly. Stabbing pain shot through his head. He groaned, and his voice was hoarse.  
  
 _That's not going to be good for my broadcast,_ he thought blearily, pointlessly. He made a second attempt to open his eyes and this time he managed to keep them open long enough to take in his surroundings, trying to see if there was anyone around that he might be able to ask for some assistance, perhaps. There was not. He was going to have to get up himself. He shifted experimentally and tried to push himself from the floor, but the pain made it a futile effort and he slumped back down. He sighed, and even that hurt. Where was an intern when you needed one? He was really going to have a talk with them because this was exactly the kind of thing that interns were supposed to help him with. _I really hope the next interns are more reliable_ , Cecil fumed, a bit deliriously. It wasn't really a train of thought that was going to do him much good. There were bigger things to be concerned about right now. Like what the hell had happened to him and why he was lying on the floor in the hallway in front of -  
  
 _Station Management._  
  
Cecil's eyes shot open as memory flooded back to him in a rush, a sudden burst of adrenaline pushing back pain and giving him the strength to struggle to his feet in a desperate bid to put some distance between himself and Managements door. He managed to scramble clumsily around the corner, half running and half stumbling. He collapsed as soon as he was out of sight of the door, slumped against the entrance to the mail room, heart pounding.  
  
He had been inside Station Managements office. He had been i _nside their office._  
  
Cecil remembered what had happened, but he could hardly believe it, no matter how insistently his memories were telling him it was true. It must be true. It was too absurd for him to have made up. But _why? and how?_ He tried to take a deep breath, calm down, and think it through, piece together what had happened. Just start at the beginning.  
  
He remembered talking to Carlos. Right, he remembered now, he had decided to ask management what he could do about Strex. So that answered the _why_. He hadn't told Carlos how much of a risk it was, though. He would be worried enough already, Cecil knew, there wasn't any reason to tell him that no one who had actually tried to have a _conversation_ with management had lived to tell about it.  Admittedly, as the Voice of Night Vale he had a slightly different relationship with Management than anyone else, and he had reason to believe that they would prefer him alive, if convenient. But it had still been a huge risk. An almost suicidal risk, actually.  
  
Cecil tried to remember what had happened after that, but the whole event was a bit of a blur in his memory. He remembered walking up to Station Managements office. He remembered trying not to let his voice falter as he spoke in a loud clear tone to the closed door. He made his request for information and stated the case for granting it and maybe even letting him live afterwards. He had presented a number of good arguments, he thought, even if he had been shaking and sweating and nervous.  
  
The problem was that Management was never really intended to _converse_ with humans, per se. They usually just wrote strange scrawling notes and thrashed around a lot. But unfortunately, this situation had called for an actual _discussion_. And since Managements… voice, for lack of a better word, was beyond mere mortal comprehension,  being talked to by them tended to involve whoever they were talking to trying to end their life by any means possible to escape the mind-twisting, unthinkable agony.  
  
Cecil was more used to this than most, as he had attended many HR re-training sessions over the years and had developed a bit of a tolerance to the brain-searing torture of being lectured by Station Management. He had even mostly stopped trying to chew through his own tongue during his sessions in the Dark Box. But of course, that didn't mean it was at all pleasant, and the experience of talking to them _in person_ was a whole new level of awful. He thought. It was really hard to say exactly since his memory of his time in their office was mostly just a blur of screaming and _please make it stop please it hurts pleasepleaseplease…._  
  
But he was alive. He had _survived_ , and now that pain was receding, becoming nothing but a memory, any echoes of it's former agony just a product of his own imagination now, muted. It was a good feeling, Cecil thought, this moment where something so horrible loses the power to hurt you, tethered as it is in the past, while you are dragged ever forward with the present.  And of course, there was more to celebrate than just his survival, as well.  
  
Because Cecil knew what he needed to do now.  
  
He didn't have any conscious memory of being given any information, and yet still he could feel the weight, the gravity of new knowledge in his consciousness. He turned it over in his mind, taking stock of what he had learned.  He knew quite a bit more about the station and how exactly the Voice functioned on a metaphysical level, to be sure, though most of that was nearly impossible to put into words and also not relevant to the situation at hand, so Cecil didn't dwell on it too much.  
  
Mostly, he had learned two relevant facts. One, there was something wrong with Cecil himself.  According to Management, he was somehow… _less_. Weaker than he should be, for some reason, prevented from mustering the Voice's full strength to fight this threat. They didn't seem to be able to tell him why this was the case, but apparently it had been true for quite some time, all the way back to when he first contracted with the station and became the Voice. It was troubling news, to say the least, but at least it gave him a goal. If he could fix what had gone wrong, he would have the power to push back Strex. That was something he could keep in mind.  
  
The second piece of information was more immediately useful. Cecil now found that he knew of a ritual he had never heard of before. It was more complicated than most of the day to day rituals that he was well-versed in, and quite a bit more powerful. And Cecil knew that if he performed it, he would be able to see deeper into the situation than he was capable of currently. The exact nature of what he would gain was still unknown to him, as that information wasn't easily understood by the human brain, but he got the general idea that he should now be able to access more fully his awareness outside his physical form and, with any luck, this would allow him to track down the source of whatever power Strex was using to subvert his control. Which meant that he had an actual course of action that he could take to try and tackle this problem. It was the most wonderful news he had heard since Tamika and her child army had evaded Strex capture last week.  
  
All in all, Cecil thought that his little gamble had been worth it.  
  
Now, he just needed to tell Carlos, and start getting together what he needed to set up for the ritual. That thought in mind, Cecil slowly pulled himself to his feet, swaying slightly, and began to make his way to the radio station entrance.  He hoped he had enough time before his broadcast started to tell Carlos he was okay, provided they would allow him to broadcast at all after the fiasco last night. He wondered how long he had been trapped in Station Management's office.  Actually, he wondered why there weren't Strex employees anywhere to be seen. His watch said it was getting very close to when he needed to go on air, it was past ten in the morning, but even the interns were missing. Weren't they supposed to have come in only hours after he went into the office? What exactly was going on here? Strex hadn't shut down the station completely, had they? He managed to limp to the front door, getting more and more concerned as he passed each empty room and silent hallway.  
  
When he finally stumbled outside into the warm air and the bright light of morning, however, it was instantly anything but silent.  
  
"Cecil!"  
  
The first thing he noticed was Carlos, beautiful Carlos, looking wide eyed and tragically upset, running towards him with his lab coat flapping behind him. His perfect face was twisted in an expression of fear and deep concern. Cecil was just opening his mouth to try and fix that when Carlos reached him and they collided with a thump, Carlos' arms suddenly wrapped around him in a vice grip and his face buried against Cecil's shoulder. Was he _crying_?  
  
"God, Cecil, you're _alive_ ," Carlos breathed into his shoulder, voice shaky.  
  
Cecil simply nodded. "Y-yes, I am, as far as I can tell. Is this… unexpected?" Station Management certainly was deadly, but of course there shouldn't have been any way for Carlos to know _how_ deadly, as Cecil hadn't told him, so this level of concern was surprising. He had hoped not to worry Carlos this much.  
  
Carlos pulled back, looking at Cecil with a look that was at once relieved, confused, and highly concerned.  
  
"Cecil… you've been missing for _three days_."  
  
Cecil blinked, confused for a moment. Three days? But he couldn't have been gone for three days, he would have missed broadcast. There was no way Management would have allowed him to _miss broadcast_...  
  
He was in the process of trying to wrap his mind around this new information when he noticed that Carlos wasn't alone. Crowed around behind him, milling around behind a secret police barricade, was what must have been a full half of Night Vale's population, crowded in the streets and watching the scene unfold with intense concern. Old Woman Josie was standing in the front, still given a wide respectful berth despite her lack of angelic protection, holding a wrapped-up plate of corn muffins. He could see his two remaining interns, Casey and Roderick, looking worried off to one side of the crowd. Simone Rigadeau was sitting on the ground underneath one of the barricades, helpfully rolling cans in his direction. Even the Sheriff himself was there, trying to enforce some semblance of order while looking over his shoulder at the two of them. Everyone looked anxious.  
  
Carlos meanwhile, was still clutching him like he was a lifeline in a turbulent ocean. "Cecil, jesus, you're _alright_ , thank god. You were gone so long, I was starting to think…"  
  
Cecil raised his arms to put them around Carlos' shoulders in a comforting gesture. "Shh, Carlos, it's alright now. I'm fine," he whispered in what he hoped was a calming manner. It was a bit difficult to pull off when Cecil himself was so utterly stunned and completely lost, not to mention still in pain. But hey, he hadn't trained his voice his whole life for nothing. He could speak perfectly calmly through the end times if he had to; it was one of his best traits.  "Ahem… Carlos, could you possibly fill me in on what happened while I was gone, perhaps?" Cecil added carefully as he eyed the crowd of people milling about. He really had no idea what was going on, which was an unusual and uncomfortable feeling for him. "I appear to have missed quite a bit of commotion…"  
  
Carlos finally loosened his vice grip and pulled back slightly, obviously trying to compose himself. He nodded. "Er, yes, sorry I just got a bit…. yes.  Well, after you went in the radio station, it seems that somehow no one else was able to go in. There was uh… quite the stir when the first of the Strex employees tried to enter the building for their shift that day and got rather messily disintegrated."  
  
Cecil couldn't help but feel a spike of vindictive pleasure at that thought. He was also glad it had been those repulsive interlopers and not his interns. Thank goodness for small blessings.  
  
"After that, the secret police roped off the building," Carlos continued. "Since you were still inside, it became a bit of a… gathering. People were worried."  He paused, squeezing Cecil's hand. " _I_ was worried."  
  
Cecil felt his heart thud in his chest. He was so lucky, he thought, to have Carlos care so much about him. He was absolutely overcome with how lucky he was, and he couldn't help but throw his arms around Carlos' neck.  
  
"Ooh, my perfect Carlos. That's so _nice_ of you to worry about me." He snuggled into Carlos' shoulder. "I'm perfectly fine though, really." He wasn't _perfectly_ fine, of course, since he was still having a hard time staying upright, but that would pass. He was mostly fine, that was close enough, right? He wasn't _lying_. He just wanted to remove than pained look from Carlos' face.  
  
It didn't particularly work. Maybe it was the way he was clutching Carlos for support, or maybe it was the fact that his clothes were somehow bloodstained and partially shredded even though he didn't have any actual injuries that he could find, or maybe it was the shake in his voice that he couldn't seem to get rid of. In any case, Carlos still looked distinctly concerned.  
  
"Cecil, let's get you home. You look like you need to lay down."  
  
Cecil had to admit, that sounded very nice right about now. He nodded, and Carlos began to lead him through the crowd towards his car. People were asking questions all around him, and he tried to answer as many as he could, to give reassurance to his listeners, even as his voice shook. At some point, he had to stop to be interrogated by the secret police, with paperwork to be filled out concerning his alarming absence.  He was in the process of filling out the box labelled "reason for disappearance, if known" with a food-coloring dipped stick when someone brushed by him in the crowd.  
  
As they passed, he felt rather than saw the hand that slipped something into his pocket .  
  
He didn't say anything, not here, simply felt around till he closed his hand around the crumpled up piece of paper that hadn't been in his pocket before, continuing to smile at the sheriff as he passed over his completed forms and continued on his way. Luckily, by this point the crowd had begun to disperse, content in the knowledge that the crisis, whatever it may have been, was over. He and Carlos made it to the car without much more trouble, and Carlos helped him into his seat with a gentle care that made Cecil's heart warm. As the car started and they began to make their way back to Cecil's apartment, he took advantage of the time to explain a little of what had happened. Mostly, he focused on the part where he needed Carlos' help to gather materials for his ritual.  Carlos seemed concerned about this for several reasons.  
  
"How do you know this is even safe?"  
  
"Well…. I don't, mostly. But really, the idea of safety is an illusion, anyways. Death comes to us all one way or another, there's not much use trying to avoid it."  he said flippantly. He may not have been able to avoid danger, but he _was_ avoiding that particular question.  
  
Carlos could tell. He frowned, but dropped the subject. He had done enough dangerous things since he'd come to Night Vale that he really didn't have a leg to stand on to preach caution. Glass houses, and all that. And he knew more than anyone else how desperate the situation was. Any risk would be worth it.  
  
And so Carlos simply listened as Cecil listed the things he would need. Some of the sacrificial animals needed this time were actually pretty rare, and he'd need a second set of bloodstones, as well. Those were never easy to come by.    
It was going to be a long day.  
  
The worst part was that with Strex in control of nearly everything, getting things without being noticed would be very difficult. But luckily, Cecil thought that he might have a lead on that. He pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at it surreptitiously, making sure to keep it out of view of the car windows where the secret police might be able to see.  
  
 _2 mi north Missile Silo 12 noon_  
  
The note was written on the back of a torn out page from _Heart of Darkness_ by Joseph Conrad.  
  
Cecil smiled, and gave Carlos the directions.  


  
==================  


  
The sand wastes past the missile silo seemed as vast and empty as the rest of the desert at first glance. Carlos stopped the car at the appointed coordinates and got out, moving around to the other side of the car to open the door. Cecil beamed at him as he hopped out of the car, already recovering quickly from his… encounter with Station Management. He was definitely glad of his rather resilient biology today. They stood side by side, looking out into the sand wastes, trying to find any sign that they were in the right place. It had taken them almost two hours to lose their Strex surveillance tail, but with some creative driving by Carlos and some slightly illegal chants on Cecil's part, they had managed. It was a bit after noon already, though. Cecil just hoped they weren't too late.  
  
For a long while, it seemed they had been. Nothing happened. They didn't see anyone. They sat themselves down on the dusty ground and waited anyways, since they didn't have another plan, minutes stretching into almost two hours. Cecil leaned against Carlos as they sat, the scientist growing more and more impatient as time went on.  
  
"Where IS she!?" Carlos finally yelled, irritated, getting to his feet suddenly. Cecil simply shook his head, trying to pull him back down.  
  
"Shush, Carlos. She'll be here. Eventually. She has her own things to worry about, we don't have any way of knowing what might be keeping her so long. And we were the ones who were late to begin with. We should be patient."  
  
Carlos scowled, running a hand through his hair in an anxious gesture that Cecil had come to know well.  "But what if she doesn't show up. What if something went wrong? What if she got caught? What will we do if we can't get ahold of what we need for this ritual thing, Cecil, we don't have another plan and it's been two hours already!"  
  
It looked like Carlos was opening his mouth to say more when he was cut off my the unmistakable click of guns being cocked. Cecil spun around to see two children holding automatic weapons, ammo slung across bulletproof vests. The guns were pointed at them. Cecil tried to give them his best, most trustworthy-looking smile, and held up the note. A third child Cecil hadn't even noticed snatched it out of his hand, the three of them examining it closely before one of them took the note and casually ate it.  
  
 _See, I told you they would be here,_ Cecil thought, smiling at Carlos. The scientist just looked deeply unsettled.  
  
He was about to try to tell the new arrivals why they had come here, or perhaps to ask whey they had been called here, whichever was the case, when the original two children gestured with the guns for them to follow, and the third put a finger to her lips in a call for silence. Cecil snapped his mouth closed, and glanced at Carlos, who shrugged uneasily before moving to follow behind their armed escort. Cecil took his arm and followed.  
  
The walk seemed almost endless, just the five of them trudging in silence out into the sand wastes for hours, growing more tired and thirsty with each passing minute. Or at least, he and Carlos were. The heat didn't seem to bother the children at all, nor did the long march. They had been trained well.  Under different circumstances, Cecil might have tried to ask them their names, make small talk, or even compliment them on their extreme fortitude. At the moment, however, he wasn't capable of thinking of much beyond putting one foot in front of the other. His fatigue from his earlier ordeal must have been catching up with him. Carlos looked like he might fall over at any moment.  
  
He was just about at his breaking point, ready to open his mouth to try and beg for an end to their strange and partially voluntary forced march, when he realized that the children had stopped. They were pointing ahead of them, at what looked to be a small outcropping of rocks, a little taller that Cecil himself, with a tunnel entrance of some sort obvious in one side. They gestured for him to go ahead, and Cecil nodded, stepping past them and ducking down to fit into the slightly too-short tunnel. He could hear Carlos close behind him, and together they followed the tunnel as it sloped gently downwards, walking half-hunched over in the gloomy heat for at least a hundred yards, until it finally opened up into a huge underground space.  
  
It looked like it might have been a natural cavern at some point, but the area had been modified and cleared until it resembled nothing less than a military bunker. There were cots and sleeping bags, as well as piles of guns and melee weapons. The entire place was crawling with children and teens. Cecil could see some paired of and sparring with each other, some practicing with slingshots. The practice target had the Strex corp logo pinned on it.  Cecil smiled at this as he scanned the room for the person he had come here to meet.  
  
Tamika Flynn wasn't hard to spot.  
  
At the back of the cavern, on a small elevated platform, several children were looking over maps and charts spread over a table, speaking to each other heatedly and then looking for confirmation to the girl sitting in a chair at the head of the table. Tamika would nod or shake her head in response, eyes roving over the information spread out before her, occasionally stopping to push back her helmet when it fell over her eyes. Her curly black hair was pulled back in messy pigtails, a bulletproof vest hanging loose over her overalls. A copy of Huxley's Brave New World was sticking out of one pocket, and there was a slightly decaying hand hanging from a rope around her neck. Cecil grinned, and waved wildly at her as he made his way through the throng of kids to her makeshift command post. Tamika glanced up from her work and caught his eye as he walked up.  
  
"Palmer." She said curtly, nodding by way of greeting. Cecil smiled, still a little tired from the long walk but happy to see her alive and well.  
  
"Tamika! We've missed seeing you around town. Glad to see you're doing well out here!" He leaned over the table, glancing at the various charts and maps she had spread out. "Seems like you're keeping yourself busy."  
  
"I-it certainly seems like a very… organized group, you have here." Carlos added by way of greeting, looking around with a kind of uneasy amazement.  
  
"What were you expecting, Lord of the Flies?" Tamika snapped. "We're better than that." She turned her attention back to Cecil with a huff. "And of course we're busy, there is work to be done. This war isn't going to win itself."  
  
Cecil nodded, suddenly more somber. "Actually, on that note… there was a matter I was hoping to discuss with you."  
  
Tamika stared him down for a moment, obviously understanding his intent. Then she nodded. She hopped down off her chair and led the way into a back corner where there was an area cordoned off with a thin curtain, gesturing for Cecil and Carlos to follow her. Once they  had some privacy, she spun around to face them.  
  
"Alright then. You have a plan of some sort. Tell me." Tamika said curtly, with an air of authority that would be the envy of most adult drill sergeants. Carlos looked intimidated. Cecil simply nodded and took a seat on an old cot set up against one wall, sighing with relief as he finally got to rest his legs.  
  
"It's a bit of a long story, I'm afraid."  
  
 "I have the time." Tamika replied dismissively.  "I need all the information you have if you want my help. I am assuming you want my help, since you're here."  
  
Carlos seemed surprised at that. "Wait, didn't you call _us_ here? That note…"  
  
Tamika scoffed.  "That was preemptive action." she said. This answer didn't particularly appear to satisfy Carlos, but then again, he was almost never satisfied when it came to questions. He had told Cecil once that it was part of being a scientist. To Cecil, though, it made sense. Causation was difficult and confusing, after all. Sometimes the response came before the call. He nodded.  
  
"I do need your help. However, I can't give you this _particular_ information, I'm afraid. It's… radio station business. I'm bound by contract."  
  
This wasn't the answer Tamika wanted, but she seemed to understand his situation, at least. She paced in the small space as she considered what he had said.  
  
"I want any information you can give me." she said finally, standing to face them again.  "I also want your assistance."  
  
Cecil blinked, surprised. "What could you need _my_ help with?"  Tamika and her militia mostly avoided dealing with him directly if possible. He was too public a figure, and under far too much scrutiny. He would love to help, of course, but so far there had been little he could do, both because of the high surveillance and because there simply hadn't been anything for which they needed his job or his skill set.  
  
Tamika didn't immediately answer his question, moving instead to dig some papers out of a large chest just outside of their curtained area. She pulled out a specific page, handing it over to him. Cecil accepted it with a smile, but his expression dropped into one of disbelief as he read over it.  
  
"This is what I want." Tamika said calmly.  
  
"This… " Cecil hesitated for a moment as he processed what he was reading. "Some of this is _highly illegal_. And not in the 'justified in wartime' way, either." He said bluntly, raising his eyebrows at Tamika. She didn't seem to be surprised by this answer.  
  
"If you want my help, that's the price." She replied, her tone making it obvious that this wasn't a negotiation.  
  
"You don't even know what I _want_ yet." Cecil pointed out with a whine. He tried to negotiate anyways. "Er… look, some of this I can do. Probably. I mean, all of it is a bit dangerous. But I can say, while I'm here, that I hate Strex just as much as you do, and I'd be happy to pass you any information about their movements that passes my desk, as requested. At great risk to myself, if I might add." He flipped over the paper to glance at the complex instructions on the back, and gulped loudly.  "I see you've even been kind enough to work out an on-air code for me, that's… thorough of you." he said uneasily. "But the rest of it…"  
  
"Is not up for debate."  
  
Cecil laughed nervously, tugging to loosen his collar. Carlos looked between the two of them, completely out of the loop and obviously curious. Tamika tapped her foot impatiently. Cecil was trying to buy time to think, but Tamika was obviously not going to wait forever.    
  
"Tamika… i appreciate everything you are doing, really, I do! And I admire your dedication youth literacy and paramilitary training! But…"  
  
Tamika stared him down, unflinching, eyes hard. Cecil sighed, slumping in his seat under her gaze. He thought about Strex corp, about how he'd gotten kicked off air, about that god-forsaken radio station on the other side of the vortex. He thought about the contract he'd signed so long ago.  
  
He really had a feeling he was going to regret this.  
  
"Alright." He sighed. "You have a deal."  
  
Tamika smiled widely, but Cecil raised a finger before she could say anything.  
  
" _But_. I reserve the right to reject a request in the interest of the public good."  
  
There was a long moment of consideration as they stared at each other. Finally, Tamika nodded.  
  
"Deal."  
  
They performed the standard verbal contract ritual, a quick cut with Tamika's bowie knife to both of their palms ad a short statement of commitment in modified sumerian before they shook hands. Carlos was still looking from one to the other in confusion, but seemed to have decided not to say anything at the moment. Tamika sat across from Cecil, more relaxed now that her part of the deal was taken care of.  
  
"Now that we have that done, what can I do for you, Palmer?"  
  
Cecil grabbed a nearby piece of paper and a pen (a real pen, benefits of being a militia on the lam), and scribbled a quick list. He passed it to Tamika. She scanned it over, and it was her turn to look surprised.  
  
"Well, you aren't making this easy, are you?"  
  
Cecil grinned. "A fair trade for what I've offered, I think. How fast can you get me the things on that list? I need this stuff soon, preferably before I might be called in to broadcast again. Provided I still have a job, of course."  
  
Tamika considered this. "I'll have to get a set of unlicensed bloodstones, those will be difficult.  You are lucky we have had to find a supplier for ourselves out here; technically, we are an army, not a smuggling ring." She read through the rest of the list again, biting her lip thoughtfully. "We'll have what you need by morning."  
  
"But how will we-"  
  
"We'll get it to you."  
  
"I knew you'd come through! Thanks!" Cecil grinned, getting up to clap Tamika on the back.  
  
Tamika didn't smile back, but she reached out to shake his hand stiffly. "Nice doing business with you, Palmer. Now if you wouldn't mind, we have work to do." She gestured to the exit.  
  
Cecil took the hint, taking Carlos by the arm and ducking out under the curtain, tucking Tamika's list of instructions into his pocket for future reference. He waved at the other children as they beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to risk overstaying their welcome. Tamika's followers were known to attack unprovoked, just to get the extra practice. Tamika herself went back to her war council, watching them leave with an intense stare.  
  
"You had better keep your end of our bargain," She called after them, her tone threatening as they ducked back into the dimply lit tunnel to the surface.  
  
Cecil just waved in reply as they walked out of sight.  
  
  
==================  
  
  
Back up on the surface, in the heat of the sand wastes, Cecil and Carlos staggered back out into the daylight, blinking from the glare.  
  
"Well, that was… rather interesting!" Cecil said was false cheer, dusting off his already ruined pants uselessly. Carlos looked at him incredulously.  
  
"Interesting is one way to put it," he said with a wry grin. "I don't think I've ever been so intimidated by a group of preteens in my life."  
  
Cecil laughed at that. "Tamika is really something, isn't she? She's such a great kid, so much _potential_! I mean, look at her, already forming an army at twelve, that's _quite_ impressive."  
  
Carlos shook his head. "If by 'something' you mean 'far too terrifying for her age' then yes. She's definitely… something."  
  
"I did notice you were less inquisitive than normal, dear Carlos. Don't tell me you were nervous!"  
  
"Well, yes." Carlos admitted sheepishly. "That, and… uh, I didn't want to interrupt your conversation. It seemed rather serious. To be perfectly honest, I really didn't follow half of what just happened in there. It sounded like Night Vale politics, you know how flummoxed I get by that." He laughed slightly. "I gather you just made a pretty drastic deal, but…" he glanced over at Cecil as they began the long march back towards the car. "What, exactly, did you just promise her?"  
  
"Well, for starters…" he pulled out the instructions Tamika had given him from his pocket, passing it over to Carlos. It was a detailed list of code words and phrases for passing information on Strex corp's movements while on-air. If he was allowed back on air, that is. The scientist gave a low whistle.  
  
"That's pretty impressive."  
  
"Yes, like I said, she was very thorough. But that's not the part I'm worried about." Cecil grimaced. "Though it is worrying. And dangerous. But at least that part is working against an enemy that I already hate."  
  
Carlos raised an eyebrow. "And the rest of it?"  
  
"The rest of it…" Cecil sighed, looking guilty. "I may have promised her, well, pretty much anything. One favor she can call in at any time in the future she sees fit."  
  
"That.. doesn't sound too bad?" Carlos sounded confused. Cecil just groaned.  
  
"No, you don't understand. I mean _anything_. That means withholding information, or releasing it to her, or giving out _false_ information; anything I am capable of doing as part of my job… and she _specifically_ demanded this include things that are in direct, open opposition to the city council and secret police."  
  
Cecil could see this sinking in for his boyfriend, the full implications of what Tamika could ask him to do. And whatever she asked, he would have to do it, even if it meant turning on his government, incriminating himself, maybe even risking his job and his life. Verbal contracts were taken very seriously here in Night Vale.  
  
"Oh, right, and I agreed tone other thing," He said suddenly, remembering the last item of Tamika's list of demands. "I promised her that any direct, physical action we take against Strex… she gets to be on the front lines."  
  
"Wow, that's…. a bit… vindictive? Bloodthirsty, maybe?"    
  
Cecil laughed. "Well, you can't say she lacks drive! That girl is going places, just you watch. And hey, if it really comes down to some sort of frontal assault on Desert Bluffs, I'll be more than happy to accept the help."  
  
They both smiled at that, trudging through the sand. They talked about what they would need to do for the ritual for a while as they walked, to distract themselves from the heat and exhaustion and from worrying about the unpredictable future. Luckily, the trip back seemed to be much quicker than the one there, and it wasn't very far until they could see Carlos' car off in the distance. When they got there, they both collapsed against it gratefully, panting, legs shaky from exertion.  
  
"Good god… remind me never to do that again," Carlos groaned, pulling himself upright so that he could get in the car, slumping in the seat. "I didn't even really need to _be there_ , I was absolutely no help at all."  
  
Cecil laughed a little, breathing hard, as he pulled himself into the passenger seat. "Hopefully we won't have to go out there again. Believe me, I'm not keen on a second visit, either." He leaned over to press a kiss to Carlos' cheek. "And for the record, I'm glad you were there."  
  
It was true. Carlos may have been an outsider, unused to the kind of crisis and negotiations that came along with any real power struggle in Night Vale, but being near him made Cecil feel safer, more confident. He knew that Carlos must be feeling useless right about now, out of his depth. He could see it in his boyfriend's face. But he also knew that something was telling him that he would need Carlos by his side through this, eventually. It was usually best to trust those kind of hunches, Cecil had learned. And so here they were, facing this together, even though Cecil would have liked to keep the man he loved far away from the danger they would almost certainly be in. He threaded his fingers through Carlos' as they drove, pondering the nature of relationships, and when they finally arrived at Cecil's apartment he leaned against his warm shoulder as they made their way inside. Today had seemed to stretch on forever, painful and grinding and full of stress, but they were here now. Whatever danger they would have to face, it was in the future; now was only the present, safe and comforting. They stumbled inside and kicked off shoes and pulled off ties as they fell into Cecil's bed, still dressed in the ragged clothes they had marched through the desert in. Neither of them cared. Carlos pulled Cecil into his arms tightly, and they listened to each other's heartbeats as they drifted off instantly into sleep.  
  
  
When they woke up tomorrow, they would make their move.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who left kudos, bookmarks, and especially comments on my last chapter! It really means a lot to me to hear what y'all think of my stuff, and it helps keep my spirits up through this huge project, which is now even longer than anticipated now that chapter 2 has become chapters 2 and 3.
> 
> I'm also looking for some more help with beta reading! If anyone is interested, please hit me up at nightvaleswimclub on tumblr. Or, if you just wanna talk about night vale, you can totally just come chat.
> 
> (Also, I'm not even going to give next chapter previews anymore because I keep changing plot points and stuff. That was a bad idea to begin with.)


	3. Corruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, folks! To be honest, I got a little unmotivated there for a while as new fic ideas presented themselves and canon moved on and jossed all this. But hey! So what. It's an AU now, nothing wrong with that, and gosh darnit, I've got a story to tell here. Hopefully I can keep this up til the end :D
> 
> This chapter is quite a bit shorter than the others; more frequent, smaller sections should help break up the workload a bit to make it more manageable while I'm in school. And allow me to post more than one chapter a year, let's hope.

When he woke up the next morning, Cecil found that he felt… heavier than usual. Like something was pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Blinking awake in a haze of sleepy confusion, he extricated himself carefully from Carlos’ arms around him and sat up, only to hear something fall with a thud to the floor. A quick glance revealed the source of the unusual weight; a large metal briefcase was sitting on the ground where it had fallen from the bed. That must be the delivery from Tamika, he assumed. He didn’t know how she had managed to have it sitting on top of him in his bed without him noticing it being placed there, but he shrugged it off as one of those things that teenage militants probably all learned eventually.  
  
He stretched and rolled over to look at Carlos, who was still fast asleep. His perfect hair was tangled, still covered in sand from their march the day before, falling in waves just over the collar of his dusty lab coat that he had fallen into bed still wearing. Cecil smiled. Today was going to be strange and probably dangerous, but it really was nice to have someone to share it with, even if his scientist could not follow him where he planned to go. He leaned over to place a kiss on Carlos’ fetchingly strong jaw, and he stirred slightly, moaning as he threw a hand over his face, obviously not wanting to wake up.  
  
Well, Cecil, supposed he could sleep for a little while longer.  
  
He pulled himself out of bed and stripped himself of his dirty clothes, putting them in the hamper designated for bloody clothing. He showered quickly; he wanted to enjoy it, but he knew that he had too much to accomplish to be leisurely. When he was done, he threw on the old tunic he wore for cleaning around the house and some faded pajama pants. There wasn’t any need for glamour. He took one last glance at Carlos sleeping on the bed before he grabbed the case, bringing it downstairs with him as he descended to the basement to begin setting up. It was his designated space for rituals and the like and had already been cleared, his usual set of bloodstones arranged in a circle on the empty concrete floor. Cecil stood there for a long moment, hands clenched around the handle of the case, hesitating. He was nervous about this. He barely knew where to start. He couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t formulate enough thoughts to remember what he had to do.  
  
What if he _failed_?  
  
He was still hesitating when he felt a hand brush across his shoulders. He swung around to see Carlos, standing there still in his rumpled lab coat with his hair sticking up, looking tired yet smiling.  
  
“You need help?” the scientist asked Cecil quietly, his eyes full of understanding, and Cecil felt a sudden rush of grateful, relieved affection. He hadn’t been sure in the previous moment if he could do this, but as it often happens, Carlos knew exactly how to help, even if he didn’t even realize it. He threw his arms around Carlos’ shoulders, not even caring that he was getting sand all over himself. Carlos put one arm around him in an unsure but comforting way, and Cecil smiled.  
  
“I’d like that, yes,” Cecil replied quietly, his voice muffled in the lab coat. Carlos looked at him a bit nervously.  
  
“Um. I’m not all that versed with rituals and that kind of thing, so I don’t know what I can do...” he trailed off nervously.  
  
Cecil smiled as he pulled away. “It’s fine! I just need some help setting up, that’s all. I can show you what I need!”  
  
And he did. The set up took a long time. There were animals to sacrifice and circles to draw in blood and bloodstones to arrange in very precise configurations. Plus chants and blood offerings to be done just to purify the room and Cecil himself. Carlos didn’t understand exactly how all of this was supposed to work, or even what they were really trying to accomplish, but he dutifully helped scrub the floor and copied the symbols from the esoteric books in unknown languages that Cecil handed him. He adjusted bloodstones. He hauled animal carcasses. Cecil was grateful for the company and the help. When they started, it had been just before ten; by the time they were done, it was well past five, and they were both exhausted and their clothes were stained in more than one type of blood.  
  
Cecil thought it was ready.  
  
He would have liked to have Carlos stay through this, to hold his hand when he needed it and ask pointed scientific questions about everything to distract him from his nerves, but this was something that needed to be done by him alone. He slipped off his tunic and his pajama bottoms, leaving him only in his boxers as he stepped into the circle, feeling the energy ripple across his bare skin.  
  
“Cecil…?”  
  
The radio host turned to look at his boyfriend, the man he loved. “I’ll see you when I’m done, Carlos,”  he said quietly.  
  
He hoped that was true.  
  
Carlos nodded, looking worried but trusting, and backed slowly out of the room, closing the door behind him with one last regretful glance. Cecil sucked in a breath. He was alone now.  
  
The actual ritual itself was not as complicated as the set up had been, but it was much harder all the same. Cecil took a deep breath, picking up his ritual dagger and looking at it for a long moment. He shut his eyes and drew it across the soft skin on the inside of his elbow in a smooth motion before he could change his mind. He watched the droplets of blood run down his arm and drip softly onto the circle, which began to glow a deep purple. It wasn’t an immediately fatal wound, but it would be if left to bleed long enough. He needed to hurry as much as he could.  
  
The words themselves were unfamiliar to Cecil, in a language he didn’t know, but they came from his lips easily all the same, dug out of some dark pocket of memory. Whether Station Management had put them there or simply pointed out what he hadn’t realized he had known along, he wasn’t sure. But they sounded… familiar, right somehow, even as they made his tongue burn and his entire body ache, his head feeling like it would split in two. The circle brightened, and the room around him dimmed, giving way to the complete darkness of the void. He kept speaking, though he couldn’t hear himself over the ringing in his ears that was growing louder by the second. The light was blinding now, and he was blind and deaf and in unbearable pain, unable to tell if his mouth was even still moving or what he might be saying, only that it was making everything fall away as if the world he’d known was being chipped off like old paint. He thought he might have screamed.  
  
Then, suddenly, as if he had crossed some unknown threshold, everything changed. Suddenly it was not unbearable. The pain receded like he was floating away from it, and the blinding light resolved itself into a comforting warmth that he could feel through his entire body. The ringing was like a chorus, sweet and melodic.  
  
And Cecil truly opened his eyes for the first time.  
  
He had been told, of course, about his role and his creation and what his purpose was was but he had never realized how disconnected he was while he was in a human body, restricted by the human mind. Now he was fettered by nothing, and he could feel everything that he was, stretching across the desert and through years, everything that Night Vale had been and ever would be unfolding in his mind like an extension of himself. He saw all of it, and he understood it.  
  
He knew that in Cecil Palmer’s house, his own body was lying on the ground, bleeding. He only had so much time; if he did not return and that body lost too much blood, the entire cycle would be broken. There would be no more Voice of Night Vale. The power had to be transferred from one living person to another; if he was stranded here with no body to return to, there was no one alive who had the skills to call him down again as they had done so long ago. He had to complete his task and return.  
  
The corruption that had been plaguing him was not difficult to locate; it burned at him like an open wound, festering and obvious, a bubbling roiling presence seeping into the corners of his town, radiating some sort of sickly blinding light. He felt his rage simmer to the surface. _This was not how it was meant to be_. He needed to find what was _doing_ this to him.  
  
He extended his mind, following the oozing trail as it led out into the desert, trailing across the sand towards the horizon. He followed it until Night Vale went out of sight, further away from his center than he had ever gone, and then even further, for what seemed like hours. He was starting to feel stretched, pushed to his limit, when finally another city came into view on the horizon, leaking bright corruption like an oil spill. There was a sign on the side of the road.  
  
Welcome to Desert Bluffs.  
  
He already had known that Strex was based in Desert Bluffs, of course, but seeing the cursed place himself brought a new wave of disgust. But he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by his own anger. He needed to know more than what they’d already found, he needed to figure out _what was doing thi_ s.  
  
The entire city was so blighted, so alien to him that it was hard to distinguish where the source was. But it was also somehow familiar; it was, in some sick way, so very similar to himself. Like a twisted echo of Night Vale. It was enough that he could get his bearings, feel what was the most wrong, and he followed that feeling all the way up to an old building with a tall tower out back. The Desert Bluffs radio station.  
  
He moved through the building, trying not to pay attention to the viscera-soaked walls or the gore streaked posters promoting ideals of hard work, all with the Strex logo at the bottom. The corruption seemed to be pouring from the upper floors like a waterfall, and he followed it up, through the aisles of old tapes and the various stacks of decaying body parts. He followed that flow all the way to the recording booth, and he could see…  
  
Kevin.  
  
It was Kevin.  


> _Listeners, I have exciting news! Just this week, Strex Corp announced that it will be opening a new corporate branch! Isn’t that spectacular! I know just how much we all love seeing our parent company expand into the all-encompassing empire it was truly meant to be. Apparently, though, there are so people who just don’t understand just what it is Strex Corp is doing, because, apparently, they’re saying they don’t **want** them there. Isn’t that just so sad? Well, I’m sure they’ll change their minds once they see the wonderful things Strex has planned. Wouldn’t you agree listeners?_

  
  
In Cecil’s view, his double was like a maelstrom, blazing sickness literally pouring off him in waves, flooding the booth, pouring into the town, twisting everything it touched with blinding, radiating light. Cecil knew that if he had a physical form he would have thrown up. As it was, he still had to fight the urge to retreat, to float away, anything to get away from that… _thing_. But he stayed where he was, rooted to the spot by his duty to his own town, not yet drowned under this madness. He could still save it, if he could just get rid of Kevin.  
  
He stayed there for a long time as Kevin spoke into his microphone, his words unintelligible. Cecil couldn’t seem to figure out how he could possibly stand against something that unspeakably wrong. He couldn’t just kill it, there was no way he’d ever even get to Kevin through that ooze, it would corrupt him long before he could accomplish anything. What options did that leave him?  
  
He was still trying to find some way to kill this monster that was ruining his town when he saw a golden glint coming from his double. Not the strange sickly radiation, but a warmer light, something soft and true. It was gone in a moment, but now that Cecil was looking for it, he could see more flickers, almost like…  
  
Like there was something under there.  
  
He edged nearer, getting as close as he dared to be. He had to force himself to focus on the chaotic vent of madness that was Kevin, but once he did, he could see what was happening much clearer. The corruption wasn’t coming from Kevin, per se. Though him, yes, but not from within him. He realized with a start that what he was looking at was the Voice of Desert Bluffs.  
  
Kevin was Desert Bluff’s Voice, as Cecil was Night Vale’s. The town’s spirit given form. And he was corrupted, that poison seeping into him from an outside source, something that was smothering Kevin’s true form as much as it was smothering the town. It didn’t take much more searching to figure out what it was.  
  
Around Kevin’s neck, within the worst of the sickness, was a sturdy looking metal collar, with a triangular S logo stamped into the front.  
  
  
  
—————————————  
  
  
Cecil came back into physical awareness slowly, painfully, feeling completely spent and more than a little nauseous. He could feel his arm bleeding, the puddle of blood beneath him already alarmingly large. He was light headed and his vision was going blurry around the edges. His heart was beating quick and hard in his chest. His mind was racing.  
  
 _We need to get that collar off,_ He wanted to say, to yell, but he found he didn’t have the voice. _It’s the collar, Kevin’s collar. We need to get rid of it._ He had to tell someone. He couldn’t die without someone knowing what they needed to do. _Destroy it,_ he thought desperately, hoping that the secret police really did have the mind scanning technology that they claimed.  
  
 _Destroy that collar, and we can all be free._  
  
His blood had reached the edge of the large circle now, breaking the seal. The purple glow stopped as Cecil gasped for breath, trying to force his voice to work. In the end, all he managed before his vision went black was one quiet, gasped word.  
  
  
  
“Carlos.”  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also still looking for beta readers, by the way! Don't need anything too involved, just someone to tell me if I made any glaring errors or if the entire chapter is boring as heck. I have a hard time telling, myself.
> 
> If you're interested, or if you just want to chat! note me on tumblr at nightvaleswimclub.
> 
> Also, a big thank you to all of you who left comment, kudos, or bookmarks on this fic. I can honestly say that it was you guys who made me decide to buckle down and keep at this when I was debating just letting it die. I lvoe yall :D


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